


Table for Four

by Feral_Female



Category: Torchwood
Genre: AU, Anal Fingering, Dark subject matter, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-17 22:12:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9348674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feral_Female/pseuds/Feral_Female
Summary: Death and taxes. They say those are the only things a man can’t avoid. If you’re Ianto Jones, add in a sister who is desperately trying to bridge the gap between herself and her younger brother.This tale is one that I’ve been looking forward to writing and yet loathing to write. I felt the show never gave this loving yet strained sibling relationship its due. As with Ianto and Jack’s relationship, so much more could have been told about this amazing dynamic. This is going to be a powerfully dark story that may contain triggers for some as I delve into my take on how young Master Jones’ leg was broken that fateful day long ago.This will also be an alien/monster free story. Sorry all you fans of things that go bump in the night. You’ll have to wait for the next tale to fulfill that critter itch. I’ll be posting new chapters on Monday, Wednesdays, and Fridays.This story – as all of mine do - takes place mainly before CoE although you may pick up some nods to things that occurred in the first three episodes of “Children of Earth”. There will be some small liberties taken from time to time with references to the show and its timelines.





	1. Table for Four - Chapter One - Ties That Bind

**Table for Four**

**Chapter One**

**Ties that Bind**

**Jack**

**(Trigger Warning – Past Physical Child Abuse)**

 

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

 

“Are they too tight?” He shook his head, his lips puffy from my kisses, his pupils dilated. I tugged on the soft cotton rope that held his left wrist to the headboard. Ianto writhed a bit, his naked skin slick with sweat. I wiggled up over his body just an inch, took his right arm, and slid the rope over his free hand. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” he panted. I stole another kiss, my bare chest resting on his, our cocks snuggled side-by-side between us. “Just… if I need to…”

“Say the word and the ropes come off,” I whispered into his mouth then stroked his tongue with mine. He moaned softly and jerked on the ropes. The headboard bounced off the wall with a gentle thud. “We’ll just do your arms this time to see how it goes.”

“Right, yes, how it goes.” His body quivered with anticipation.

I sat back, my ass on his pelvis, and admired my coffee-making captive. There was something inexplicable about Ianto Jones. For such a shy young man when out in the world, he certainly enjoyed trying new things in the bedroom. Being an egoist to some extent – okay, a large extent - I liked to think that it was my tutelage in all things erotic that was causing him to grow and experiment more in bed. And thank God for it because vanilla sex starts to get a little blasé. Ianto was up for anything that I had suggested so far. There is  _nothing_ like an exuberant student.

“Relax and let your need to control everything slip away,” I said. He bobbed his head, his parted mouth tempting to the extreme.

 “Can a man die from having an erection for too long?”

His query made me chuckle. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“What about those warnings in the commercials for ED meds? I swear I heard them talking about death from erection.”

“I think that’s only if it lasts longer than four hours and was induced by a little blue pill. Yours has only been that way for about ten minutes and my mouth is what brought that erection on.” He looked quite exasperated. And sexy. Incredibly sexy. The lube lay beside me and I made use of it by coating my fingers, for that would be all of me Ianto Jones would feel inside him tonight. I wanted to ease him into a robust and rousing sex life, not drag him into one kicking and screaming and chance dulling his enthusiasm. Rope play was probably rather avant-garde for Mr. Jones.

 “Can we _please_ get on with it before I come all over myself?” He yanked harshly on his bonds then winced as the rope began to tighten around his wrists. My goodness, my newest agent was _so_ impatient.

“You’re going to come all over yourself no matter what,” I assured him as I pressed those slick fingers into him then lay down beside him. Capturing his mouth I began to bring him closer and closer with each rotation or bump of his prostate. Soon he was lost to the sensations. The muscles in his jaw, stomach, and thighs tensed. I sat up, slid between his splayed legs, and took his cock in my left hand. His prick kicked violently. His orgasms are some of the most beautiful things I have ever seen and I’ve witnessed solar systems being born. I milked him until he began to grow flaccid. “For a tidy Welshman, you certainly make a big enough mess,” I observed while easing my fingers out of him. He was too spent to complain or speak, his body having gone slack. Taking a sweet, wet kiss I loosened his bonds. He immediately grabbed my head and held my mouth to his so we could taste each other a bit more.

“Let’s catch our breath,” I suggested, rolling out of bed. He lay there silently, his gaze filled with a myriad of things. I patted his hip and then went to wash up. When I returned with a hot, soapy washcloth, his eyelids slowly lifted.

“You don’t have to be the one to do that all the time,” he groggily told me.

“I like to take care of my lover.” I sat down beside him. He made a sound akin a cat having it’s back scratched when the washcloth settled on his chest. “Besides, it does my ego good to see you so exhausted after we have sex that you instantly fall asleep.”

“As if your ego needs boosting.” His smile was alluring. “Perhaps I’m so tired because my boss is a slave driver.”

“Rumor has it your boss is one keen sort of guy.”

“He’s the absolute keenest.”

He was one warm look away from being fucked soundly. Then his cell rang. My hand stalled on his chest, the cloth covering his right pectoral as the mood instantly shifted from loving and playful to tense. I recognized the ring tone. I’d heard it at least two dozen times over the past four weeks. No one said a word until the call went to his voice mail then I spoke up.

“When are you going to set up a dinner date for us with your sister?” I caught a flash of anger in his blue eyes, his mouth settling into a slash. We’d been going back and forth about this for at least a month. Ever since our return from the Fenwick Lodge I’d been gently trying to coerce him into speaking to her. He flatly refused and it befuddled me to no end. Also, I’ll admit, it pissed me off as well. The man was like a pit bull when he put his mind to it. Gwen would say that was the Welsh in him shining through. Could be. God knows she was a rock-head as well.

“I’m not in the mood.”

And that had to be excuse one hundred and sixteen that I had heard. “Ianto, why are you purposely avoiding your sister? She’s your only sibling. They’re rare and precious things. Do you have any idea how much I wish I had mine? And you’re throwing away valuable time with your sister to do what? Prove a point?”

 He left my side like a shot. I balled up the washcloth and turned slightly on the bed to watch him picking up our hastily discarded clothing.

“Ianto, stop.” He paused, my shirt and undershirt in his hands. Our gazes met for only the briefest of time but the amount of pain I saw in his eyes before he buried it nearly garroted me.

“There’s a lot of things…not everything was good, you know, in my childhood. She doesn’t know. She has no clue. Seeing her… it’s…” His eyes drifted shut then reopened slowly, as if he were trying to sweep away mental images with a blink and an exhalation.

“She’s trying to reach out to you, Ianto.”

“I know, I know. But there’s so much…” He spun from me and dropped the clothing in his hands into the hamper. I waited, wet washcloth leaking over my thigh to make a wet spot on the sheet. “How do I tell her what we are when I don’t even know myself. I told her that when she cornered me about us. I tried to make her understand that. Then there’s Johnny.”

“Your brother-in-law?”

“Yes, he’s a good sort but the things that he says at times. Crass things really. Meant as jokes of course but still…”

“They sound like decent, hardworking people to me. I highly doubt there’s much your brother-in-law could say that would hurt my feelings.” I rose from the bed and walked over to stand beside him. I dropped the washcloth into the clothes hamper. His gaze darted from the mound of dirty laundry to my face. “I’m not going to force you to do this but I will remind you that your profession is a highly dangerous one. Life is too short, Ianto. Siblings are too important to simply let them sit in your voice mail for eternity. Has she murdered anyone? Abducted and tortured children? Pulled the whiskers off kittens? Made a coat out of Dalmatian puppies?”

His mouth curled up a bit at the corner. “No, of course not.”

“Then she’s probably not a bad person. Think on it. Just don’t think too long. You’re an active Torchwood agent now. Your chances of ending up in the deep freeze have leaped skyward since your promotion.” I dropped a kiss to his bare shoulder and went to take a shower, the night of fun and ropey games obviously over.

“Jack,” he called. I stopped at the bedroom door and turned to look at him. “When she asks where we stand – you and I – what do I tell her?”

Labels. The people of this time certainly craved them while condemning them. “What do you want to tell her about us?”

“I’d like to tell her that we’re exclusive.”

“Then tell her that we’re exclusive.”

“You know that exclusive means--”

“Ianto, I’m aware of what it means. If that’s how you want to term our relationship, then go ahead and call it that.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Thank you, Jack.” Oh, God. Those eyes of his. They’d be the death of me yet. So mournful one moment and then brimming with love that I was not worthy of the next.

“You don’t have to thank me, Ianto. It should be me thanking you.” I spun and left him there to mull over things. Maybe, and this was highly unlikely, but just maybe he’d listen to me this one time. And maybe a sea horse would be elected the next prime minister.

 

 

 

**To be continued…**


	2. Table for Four - Chapter Two - Hiding Among the Minutia

**Table for Four**

**Chapter Two**

**Hiding Amid the Minutia**

**Ianto**

**(Trigger Warning – Past Physical Child Abuse)**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

“You sure you don’t want to head to the Salty Seaman. Okay, see, I can’t even say this pubs name without snickering,” Owen laughed as the team donned jackets for the trek to our new favorite hangout.

I smiled at Tosh, Gwen, and Owen. Jack stood behind them, pushing his arms into his coat, his gaze resting on me. “Thanks, but I’ve got someone’s paperwork to do and the coffee machine needs a good scouring. Bring me something to eat. Some corned beef on dark rye sounds good.”

“Spicy mustard on the side,” Jack said as the team headed off for a midday break. I nodded. He ran a hand over my ass then dashed off to catch up with the others. As soon as the blast door rolled shut I let my eyes close for a moment. It had been a busy morning, filled with boring minutia that Jack refused to deal with. Paperwork mostly. The man despised sitting behind his desk pushing papers, but any organization runs on it and so it must be done. Enter the factotum with his office skills and rather odd affection for the mundane. There are times that I find the humdrum work calming. Being an active agent is amazing and I love being out in the field, but when I’m stressed, sitting behind a desk getting things in order settles my nerves. I rather like things orderly.

This dinner with Rhiannon that Jack so desperately wanted me to desire like he does was not in any way, shape, or form a controlled type of situation. I climbed the stairs slowly, peeling off my jacket and tie then rolling up my sleeves. I spent fifteen minutes scouring the coffee machine then made myself a fresh cup. The aroma wafting up off the strong brew held just a hint of vanilla. I padded into Jack’s office, set my cup on his desk, and dropped down into his seat. I spun around in the office chair a time or two, letting my mind play with the premise that I was head of Torchwood and Jack was the coffee boy/new agent. 

I stopped spinning. “Not even in my fantasies can I see Jack being the underling.” Not Jack Harkness. He was too much the alpha. That quality was just one among many that drew me to him like a cur to the back of the butcher’s shop. “Right. Time to work.”

I lifted my mug to my lips, took another appreciative sip, and then placed my cup to a coaster with the Torchwood insignia. Shuffling papers about, I got things tidied and neat and then began sorting through the mound. Things that needed his signature or attention, things that could be canned, things that I would need to enter into the Hub computer system or the archives. They all were placed into separate piles. The steady pulse of the rift manipulator and the endless trickles of water combined to ease me into a Zen kind of state.

I was making some fine progress, my mind fully occupied with my work, when my mobile rang. The tone jerked me from the calm place I had been. I felt the muscles between my shoulder blades tighten up. That was my stress point. There were times Jack would work on those muscles trying to get them to loosen up. Seemed the only thing that did that was sex, office work, and getting skunk-assed drunk. Since sex and getting snockered were out at the moment, and my office work had now been violated, it looked like my back was going to be kinked until Jack put his elbow to the knot later tonight.

Truly, letting it go to my voicemail seemed the best thing. Then Jack’s plea bounced around inside my head. Maybe it would just be better to do this and get it done. Like having a tooth pulled or getting a prostate exam. Then Jack and I could move on with our lives and I could return to being the brother/uncle who dropped by on occasion, doled out a few pounds to the kids, and fed my sister a heaping pile of bullshit about my job and my relationship status.

I answered on the twelfth ring, startling Rhiannon if her short gasp were any indication.

“Ianto, I didn’t think you’d pick up.” Her voice whipped up all kinds of childhood memories. Some pleasant, many not. “I’ve been trying to get in touch for weeks. Do you _ever_ answer that bloody thing? I mean, what’s the point of having a mobile if you never use it?”

“Sorry, it’s work.”

“Right, yes, work. Well, I’m calling to tell you that we’re planning a birthday party for Mica. You think you can peel yourself away from your job for a few hours on a Saturday afternoon? And don’t feed me that shite that you’re working. I’m not buying that anymore.”

“Yes, sure, of course. I’ll come to the party.”

“Think you might bring your boss? John and I would love to meet him.”

“Well, perhaps you can meet him sooner than that.” I could not picture Jack at my sister’s house, pointed cardboard birthday hat on his head, clapping over some child blowing out all the candles on her homemade cake. He’d sooner be shot in the head. Hell, _I’d_ sooner shoot him in the head then subject him to that.  “How about dinner sometime this week?”

“Seriously?”

“Yes seriously. Jack is keen to meet you and John.” That, at least, was the truth.

“ _Seriously?_ So, you’ve talked to him about us? About me? I hope you said good things.”

“Yes, all good.” That was also the truth…mostly.

“Gods, yes, we’d love to meet your new…well, what is he? What do I call him?”

Now that the time to slap a label on us had arrived, I found myself balking.

“Just call him Jack. We’re still trying to figure out what we are.” Also, the truth. Okay, perhaps this wasn’t going to be as bad as I feared it might. Maybe easing her into Jack and me would be fine. If I leaked tiny bits of the truth into the secrets this just might work.

“John! Ianto’s on the phone wanting to meet up for dinner with his new – Jack!” She shouted to her husband. I picked up a pen and started rapping on the edge of Jack’s desk. “When can we get a sitter?”

“Dinner with the gay boys?” John bellowed then followed that amazing statement up with a huge belch. I buried my face into my hand, nearly stabbing myself in the eye with the pen I’d been nervously drumming with. The knot between my shoulders grew tighter. “Sounds good. How about tomorrow night? We can call Livvie down the road. She owes us for watching her brats last weekend.”

“Tomorrow night?” Rhiannon asked, her voice growing more high-pitched as she got increasingly excited.

“Let me touch base with Jack and get back to you.” I rubbed at the tiny gash on my forehead inflicted by the damn pen. “Will you around your mobile?”

“Yes, of course, you knob. I actually answer my phone.” She laughed making me smile just a bit. “Call me right back. Don’t forget. Oh! Where we going to eat?”

“I’ll run that past Jack as well. I’m sure he’ll want to take you somewhere nice, so tell John to dig out his wedding slash funeral suit.”

“Oooo, that sounds fancy! I’ll get my iron hot. That suit is bound to be wrinkled. John! Call Livvie right now! Call me back, Ianto, right?”

“Yes, of course. As soon as I send Jack a text.”

“Okay, good. Don’t forget to call me back.”

“I won’t. I promise.” I hung up, drew in a long breath, and sent Jack a text. He replied within seconds saying that tomorrow night would be fine and that we’d meet them out at the Hungry Lion, a posh eatery that he and I frequented on occasion. He also tacked on that he had my lunch in his hand, was happy that I’d taken this step, and would see me in fifteen minutes.

I sent that info to my sister who hit me back immediately. She and John had Livvie lined up and would meet us at the Hungry Lion at 7 sharp. She gave me one final reminder not to forget or be late. I assured her there was no way I could forget this dinner date then shut off my phone and returned to work, or tried.

The muscles in my back were so tight I had to stand up and roll my shoulders in circles. When that did nothing, I left the work behind and went to relax on the old couch under the word ‘TORCHWOOD’ painted on the damp wall. Sitting there, I let my head drop back to stare at the letters above my head silently praying that the ghost of my father wouldn’t rear his ugly head as it usually did when I saw my sister.

 

**To be continued…**


	3. Table for Four - Chapter Three - Meet the Davies

**Table for Four**

**Chapter Three**

**Meet the Davies**

**Jack**

**(Trigger Warning – Past Physical Child Abuse)**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

“Put your hands against the wall. Good, now brace yourself.” He did, spreading his legs for balance. I walked up behind him, pressed my right elbow into the space between his shoulder blades, applied some pressure, and began rotating my arm. Ianto’s muscles were knotted and hard. A low - I would say sensual - moan rolled out of my man Friday. “I can’t believe that you’ve gotten yourself this keyed up over a simple dinner.”

“You’ve not spent any time around them. Ouch, move off that one spot.” His head hung down between his spread arms. If we had more time, I’d peel his trousers off and _really_ relieve his stress. I leaned into him just a bit more. “Jack, is that your gun prodding me in the ass?”

“No, it is not.”

He stood up and moved briskly out of reach. My arms fell to my sides. “You need to stop that.”

“It’s been a couple days.”

“Jack, it’s been less than twelve hours. Remember that blow job in the shower this morning?”

“Oh yeah. Ianto, my God, would you relax. You’d think you were going to Buckingham Palace to dine with the Queen.”

“More like spending the night with Al and Peg Bundy,” he snapped as he fiddled with his perfectly knotted tie. That comment made me laugh. He pulled on a dark gray jacket and brushed off the lapels. “I’d like to apologize in advance for anything that might fly out of them tonight.”

“You’re already apologized for them ten times in the past hour. It’ll be fine.” He held out my coat and I turned to let him ease it up over my arms. When he settled it on my shoulders, I felt him lean into me, just slightly, as if to absorb something he needed from me. Then his arms curled around me. There we stood for several silent moments. When he had gotten his fill of fortitude - or whatever it was he had needed - he slowly stepped back, ran a hand over the back of coat, and pronounced me fit to go to dinner.

“You could have worn a tie,” he commented as we hustled out his front door.

“Ties are more your thing. I like my coat and suspender look. It’s classic.”

“Did you know that Owen once said that period military is not the dress code of a straight man?” He locked his front door, pocketed the key, and then realized what had tumbled out of his mouth. “Not that I ever thought there was anything wrong with you being gay.” I arched a brow. “I mean omnisexual. You know I have no issues with that.”

“I assumed that to be the case when you first let me fuck you.” His eyes flared a bit, a fine blush creeping up his neck. “And if you don’t stop looking at me like that, we’ll never make it to the Hungry Lion.”

“I was remembering our first time. I was so scared.”

“You were incredible.”

“I fell for you that night. Well, no, it was before that. Way before that. Sometimes I think I was programmed in the womb to be at your side.” There were times his words left me speechless. “Sorry. I’m a blathering fool tonight. Let’s just get this over with.” He jogged down the steps. I threw a look to the heavens and went down after him. I slid behind the wheel of the SUV, Ianto at my left. The ride to the restaurant was quiet. I knew he was processing so I left him to his thoughts. I had enough of my own to keep me busy. When we pulled into the parking lot of the four-star restaurant, his gaze touched mine.

“You’re very special to me, Ianto.” I left my hands on the wheel to help quell the need to claim him as mine. “I just wanted you to hear that before we went in. And there are times that I feel the same way...that I was somehow led to _this_ place and time so that you and I could find each other.”

His reaction was to grab me and kiss me. So much for keeping our hands off each other. I slid my fingers into his hair, tilted his head, and then went in deep. So deep that he would never be able to question just how much I adored him…wanted him…needed him. And then the valet knocked discreetly on my window.

We broke apart. I put the window down and enjoyed the cool air on my face. It blew away the cloud of emotion that had settled on us.

“Sir, we’re supposed to park your car,” the pimply-faced lad said.

“No one gets into this car but me. Or him. Or a few other people.”

“He’d probably end up losing it,” Ianto tossed out after the lad had slunk off like whipped dog.

“How the _hell_ could anyone lose an SUV?” I asked as we climbed out of the Range Rover. I pushed a button on the fob and all the doors locked.

“I don’t know. Forget me. I’m talking nonsense tonight.”

“There they are! _Ianto!_ ” My lover cringed. I mean visibly cringed at the loud shout bouncing across the parking lot. I spun on my heel and met his sister and brother-in-law with a wide smile, a hug, and a handshake. “My God, Susan was right. You _are_ gorgeous like an escort. I mean, Ianto said you were handsome but that don’t even come close.”

I had to grin at her comment. She was a lovely woman, dark hair gathered up into a fanciful hairdo, a sparkling blue-and-silver shawl pulled over a common navy blue dress. It was obvious she had gone to great lengths. As had her husband, who looked as if he’d sooner be hung from a lamppost by his balls than be forced into that old suit as he had been. Poor man.

“I think we should head in before I shoot myself in the face,” Ianto muttered under his breath.

“Yes, let’s get our table and get to know each other.” I motioned Mr. and Mrs. Davies to enter first. She linked her arm with her husband, gave Ianto a glowing look of approval, and then led John into the restaurant. “I can’t wait to hear all the stories about little Ianto.”

Ianto groaned in abject misery.

 

**To be continued…**


	4. Table for Four - Chapter Four - Waiter... Check Please!

**Table for Four**

**Chapter Four**

**Waiter…Check, Please!**

**Ianto**

**(Trigger Warning – Past Physical Child Abuse)**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

The dry-aged filet mignon had been grilled to perfection. The creamed spinach and cottage chips had also been delicious, as had been the lobster bisque and wedge salad with thick blue cheese dressing. The coffee was to die for, and the desserts now being served looked heavenly.

All I wanted to do was leave. Rewinding time sounded better. Maybe I could locate a Time Lord among the serving staff and go back to yesterday when I answered my sister’s call.

“Okay, so I have a question,” Johnny said after the server, a lovely young woman who Jack had flirted with all night, left our table. The crème brûlée in front of me didn’t entice me in any way. I pushed it to Jack who shook his head while forking off a bite of his berry-covered cheesecake. “Between you two blokes, which one is the wife?”

“He is,” Jack said without missing a beat. I could only blink and wave at the server. I needed another drink. Badly. Desperately.

“John, for the love of God, what did I tell you about asking those kinds of questions?” Rhiannon snapped at her husband. They had both dined on mutton and now were sipping coffee and enjoying some of the finest carrot cake in all of Wales.

“I’m just curious,” he replied then loosened his tie a bit more. “It’s not like I asked which one of them is the woman in bed.”

“Actually, we’re both men in bed,” Jack calmly answered then popped his forkful of dessert into his mouth.

“I’m going to the bar. Anyone want a drink?” I shot to my feet and left the table before they had a chance to reply. The eatery was packed with affluent people. It was a clubby feeling place with a huge fireplace and a wait staff beyond compare. And there sat my brother-in-law asking who was the woman. Dear God. The barkeep saw me coming. “Give me a double shot of whatever your hand lands on. Then give me the bottle of whatever your hand landed on.” I threw back the double shot of tequila, coughed lightly for several minutes, and then grabbed the bottle the bartender had placed on the bar. “See that movie star looking man at the table by the window?”

“I’ve been glued to him all night,” the older man said. “Man’s a real looker. And that smile!”

“Yes, that smile.” I poured another shot, downed it, shuddered, and then cleared my throat. “Put this on his tab.”

When I returned to the table Jack gave me a look that could incinerate cinder block. I sat down and sloshed three fingers of tequila into my empty wine glass.

“…said to Livvie that I thought because of how Ianto mooned over you that we’d be hearing wedding bells soon.” My gaze flew to my sister, then to Jack, and then back to my sister. “I’d love to have you in the family, Jack. We’d be welcoming.”

“Oh aye, that we would. I got no issue with men who prefer dick to pussy,” John chimed in. Rhiannon began to chide him. I poured more tequila into my wine glass then drank it down. The burn was close to painful but then again so was this meal. “I work with a bloke, Eddie, who’s got himself a nice little boyfriend. Kind of a twinky sort Eddie’s boy is, not a man’s man like you Jack.”

“Thank you, John,” Jack replied with a smile that looked to be sincere.

“They’ve got a tidy flat and a cat. Right married couple they are already. Cute it is. I always tell Rhiannon that I’d take a poof like Eddie over half of the other blokes I work with. Eddie, he’s got a good work ethic.”

“I want to die,” I muttered as I began to pour more tequila into my wine glass. Maybe I needed more wine too. I could still hear the conversation so perhaps if I mixed red wine with the tequila maybe that would dull the words. So, I dumped wine into my glass then topped it off with a triple shot of tequila. My sister stared at me with concern. Johnny kept talking about Eddie and his twinky boyfriend, and Jack laid down his fork and snapped the wine bottle out of my hand.

“You’re going to _wish_ you’d died if you keep drinking like that,” Jack softly growled.

“Ianto, are you feeling okay?” Rhiannon reached out to place her hand on my forearm. I nodded, downed the wine and tequila mixer, and gagged. It was ghastly. And yet the foulness seemed to suit.

“Fine, yep, just fine.” I lunged for the wine bottle. Jack tipped it up and dumped what appeared to be half the bloody bottle onto my shirt. Everyone at the table threw napkins at me except for Jack. He pushed to his boots, grabbed my wrist, and jerked me to my feet.

“Excuse us, I’m just going to help him get cleaned up.” Jack dragged me toward a discreet little hall that housed the bathrooms. I stumbled along, dabbing at my white shirt with a cloth napkin, trying to speak to the man in front of me. He said nothing, just kept pulling, until we were in a nicely done bathroom with two stalls, rich dark paneling, and four recessed sinks.

“This shirt is ruined.” I grumbled and reached for the taps.

 Jack spun me from the sinks to face him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You dumped wine on me. That’s what’s wrong!”

“Ianto, why are you acting this way? Your sister and her husband are charming.”

“You must be sitting on the other side of a _very_ different table.”

“I am. I’m sitting at the non-judgmental table. Maybe you should try it.” He pointed right at my nose. “You’re damn lucky to have family that cares enough to try. So, they make mistakes and fumble over us. It’s got to be hard to go from having a brother who they thought was straight to one who takes it up the ass from his boss.”

“That’s a bit crass.”

“And you’re being an ass. Give them a chance.”

“There’s more to it than John’s need to ask stupid questions or Rhiannon’s desire to get us married.” I rubbed my shirt.

“What? What more is there?” He demanded, his ire a thick choking cloud.

“There’s just…more.”

“And you have the balls to call _me_ out on not sharing what I’m thinking or feeling.”

“It’s not something one discusses in a bathroom, Jack!” I scrubbed at the wine stain harder, my gaze now pinned to my shirt.

“Then tell me when you get home. I’ve had enough of your shit for one night.” He stalked to the door and flung it open.

“What? Wait, you’re leaving?” My sight rocketed from my shirt to him in the doorway.

“A friend just called. They need me to do something.”

“Something? Something like what?”

“Something that has more to it but I’m not going to tell you.”

And out he went, his coat whipping behind him. My mouth hung open. Great. This night had just officially leaped into the shitter. Maybe, if I were lucky, the Titanic would fall out of the sky and flatten this damned place. There is precedence for that happening but I wouldn’t be that lucky.

“Now I have to face them alone,” I sighed, looked from the door to the mirror over the sinks, and saw, as I knew I would, the ghost of my father behind me. “Go the fuck away,” I snarled at the image before leaving the bathroom to make apologies to and beg a ride from my sister and John.

 

**To be continued…**

 

 


	5. Table for Four - Chapter Five - Snakes and Ladders

**Table for Four**

**Chapter Five**

**Snakes and Ladders**

**Jack**

**(Trigger Warning – Past Physical Child Abuse)**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

Two hours – and a long drive around Cardiff later – I decided to locate my factotum. Guilt over my blow-up spurred me into tracking him down, as did the need to try to figure out his almost violent reaction to a woman I had found to be delightful. Rhiannon loved her younger brother. You could see it every time she looked at him. Johnny was a good sort, a little brash but accepting of Ianto and me, which in and of itself spoke well of the man. And Ianto, the stubbornly stupid oaf, acted like the woman was a demon clinging to his back. I pulled up his whereabouts using that handy leather strap on my wrist.

“Should have known,” I mumbled and pulled a left at the next light. Ten minutes later I strolled into the Salty Seaman. The pub was packed with twenty-somethings with a few thirty-somethings thrown in for good measure. My team and I rather liked the new hangout even if the pirate theme was a little tacky. Someone was giving the karaoke machine a good workout, slurring their way through Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face” to the roar of the drunken crowd. Things got a little wild at the Seaman after midnight.

I slipped between a couple young women, gave them both a smile, and then slapped Chadwick on the arm. He gave me a black look until he saw that it was me, then his dour expression shifted. I gave the phone he was holding over his brilliant red head a look.

“Any sign of Ianto?” I shouted to be heard over the caterwauling of Karaoke Man and the cheering – or it could be jeering – of the patrons.

“Yep, look on stage.” Chadwick went to his toes to get a better image. I closed my eyes and murmured a prayer to any god who might listen. “He dedicated this song to you,” the barkeep in the Sex Pistols t-shirt laughed.

Forcing myself to look, I opened my eyes, wiggled around between the two young women with the nice large breasts, and located my newest agent on the small stage, microphone in one hand and empty bottle of tequila in the other.

“Are you kidding me?” I sighed while wondering where his jacket and tie had gone. “Did you give him that whole bottle?” I yelled at Chadwick who had stopped taping Ianto’s performance to actually do his job.

“Hey, his money’s good and he’s an adult.” Chadwick expertly filled a couple of mugs with dark ale. “Besides, I know his limits. When he starts puking or crying then he’s cut off.”

“Your compassion is truly overwhelming.” The girl behind me was pressing into my back. Not that I was complaining mind you, but she was young enough to be my … well, she was young let’s just leave it at that.

“Look, I know him, okay. He tears it up on occasion, usually after a row with someone he loves.” Chadwick talked and made drinks as they were shouted to him by several servers. “You and him have a fight?”

“Sort of,” I admitted and pushed out from the bar and the big breasts resting on my back. I stopped and gave Chadwick a stern over-the-shoulder look. “I do _not_ want to see this performance on any of my employee’s phones. Which means don’t send it to Tosh.” She and him had become quite the item since he had moved into the area.

“Oops.” The ass smiled widely, shrugged, and then started making a martini.

Wonderful. So, that meant as soon as Ianto next walked into the Hub this embarrassing songfest would be all he’d see on every monitor. Maybe that would be a good thing. Perhaps if he saw how moronic he looked when he was drunk he’d think twice before tying one on. I stalked over to my lover.

“Okay Elvis, time to step down.” I planted myself by the edge of the stage. Ianto blinked at me, weaved a bit, and then smiled like he had seen the sun after being in the dark for years.

“Jack!” He tipped off the tiny stage. I jumped to the side to catch him, the impact of his dead weight nearly sent me to my knees. “Look everyone, it’s pokey face.” The empty bottle of tequila fell from his fingers. “Oh, Jack, I missed you.”

“I missed you too. Let’s get outside and see if some fresh air helps to sober you up.”

It didn’t. I walked him up and down the sidewalk twice. He hung off my shoulders like a bad habit, talking about things that made no sense at all. Realizing this was pointless, I led him to the SUV and somehow got him inside and buckled up.

“Okay, here’s the rule. If you throw up in here it will be _you_ cleaning the mess up tomorrow, got it?” I told him as soon as my ass hit the seat.

“Sometimes… in my sleep… I can hear it break.”

“Sorry, what?” I fished the keys out of my coat pocket then tried to cram a key into the ignition, my patience with the man’s immature behavior tonight about at its end.

“It’s a distinct sound - like a thick branch - when a bone breaks. One sharp stomp… _snap!_ ”

He smelled like a cheap bar. _Well, of course he did, Jack._ “Why don’t you just try to go to sleep?”

“He told mum that I fell off the swing, but I didn’t. He told mum lies all the time.”

A flicker of unease bloomed in my stomach. I stopped trying to shove the wrong key into the ignition and turned my head to look at Ianto.

“Who told her lies?” I asked, my voice suddenly weedy.

Ianto’s head rolled back to the rest, his eyes lingered about half-mast. “He did. When he’d do things like that…to me. Only me never Rhiannon. Said a lass couldn’t take a blow like a lad could. Once, after I won at _Snakes and Ladders_ , he shoved me down the stairs.” He then looked down at his shirt. “Jack, is this soup on my shirt?”

There were words somewhere. There had to be. Why none would form on my tongue I do not know.

“Ianto, are we talking about your father?” There. Words. Praise be and God, if you’re listening, do not let this man say his father beat him when he was a little boy. Please, God…please.

“Hum. Yes, Dad was a mean fuck at times.” He glanced up from his ruined shirt. I nearly wept at the pain I saw on his face. “Never touched Rhiannon, only me. Knocked me around a few times, down the stairs, broke my leg when I was little. I see her and then he shows up. He always shows up when I see her. In the mirror, Jack. I _so_ wanted to kill him… I left home instead. How did I get tomato soup on my shirt?”

“Ianto, I am so sorry.” I reached over to him, my fingers sliding over the back of his neck. He teetered toward me with ease, his body loose and floppy. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

“I am too,” he whispered. I pressed a kiss to his hair and held him as he passed out, which was a blessing. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with the images that were now haunting me. Not until he woke up anyway.

 

**To be continued…**

 


	6. Table for Four - Chapter Six - Lifelines

**Table for Four**

**Chapter Six**

**Lifelines**

**Ianto**

**(Trigger Warning – Past Physical Child Abuse)**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

Breathing was excruciating. My hair hurt. Someone heavy sat down beside me on the bed and the motion was similar to being on a cruise ship caught in a hurricane. A round of dry heaves started. The heavy someone lifted the pillow off my head. Light hit my eyelids. The pain was terrible. Worse than being shot. Worse than a kidney stone. Worse than death.

“Ianto, it’s time to wake up. I have coffee.” Ah, that was Jack’s voice.

“No need to live.”

“I have coffee,” he repeated. I moaned. “And aspirin.” I forced one eyelid open. A searing bolt of agony entered my brain via that one open eye. I quickly squeezed it shut which made the thumping headache even worse. “Come on, you need to get up and moving. It’s ten after two in the afternoon.” He slipped an arm under my back and gently lifted me into a sitting position. The room lurched up just like that cruise ship I mentioned earlier. The dry heaves started again.

I took the coffee cup but he continued to hold it as well. Somehow, we got it to my lips and a trickle of coffee slid over my tongue and down my throat. It was superb coffee.

“Did you buy this?” I asked then took another sip.

“Yep. Now down these.” He gently lowered the cup, and my shaking hands, to his thigh. I let him have possession of the coffee while I swallowed two green tablets. My eyes watered steadily at the sun beating on my bed. Jack looked good. Fuzzy, but good. He smelled amazing but then again, he always did. A few moments passed in companionable silence. Me sipping on coffee brewed by the gods and Jack sitting facing me, his blue eyes holding something that was making me edgy. The effects of the hangover began to fade and then they were gone. In the span of a breath the headache and nausea had disappeared.

“Those weren’t Tylenol, were they?” I asked.

“Andamarikan relief caplets.” He reached out to take the empty mug from my hands. The backs of his fingers brushed my bare chest. “I keep a supply on hand.”

“Space hangover pills. Nice.” He smiled and patted my thigh. “I need to shower. And brush my teeth. My mouth tastes like I’ve been chewing on a dead fish.”

“Ugh.” Jack stood up. “Get yourself tidied up and then we’ll sit down over some food and talk.”

“Did I do something that brought embarrassment to Torchwood last night?” I threw the covers back, my nakedness barely registering. Which shows just how far I’d come with Jack. There had been a time I could barely let him see me nude without lunging to turn off the lights.

“No, not at all. We’ll talk in a bit.”

I could sense he was firm in that directive, so I padded off to the bathroom, showered, brushed my teeth, gargled, and brushed my teeth yet again. Dressing consisted of grabbing whatever was on top of the ‘yet-to-be-put-away ‘clean clothes pile. It turned out to be a pair of my old jeans and one of Jack’s shirts. A light blue one. When I entered the kitchen, he was just setting out two plates of scrambled eggs and more coffee steamed in mugs that matched the plates. His gaze went over me. Maybe he objected to me wearing his shirt. I reached up to remove it.

“No, don’t.” My hands fell to my sides. “I like seeing you in my clothes.”

“I like wearing them. They smell like you.”

He smiled but this one was the brilliant one, the one that knocked you off your feet. The previous ones had been shadowed. I much preferred the stunning one that made those dimples show. God, but he was so handsome. What was he doing with a pale Welshman like me?

“Sit, let’s eat.” He waved at the simple fare he had whipped up. We pulled out our chairs, sat, and tucked in. Well, I tucked in. Jack nibbled on some dark rye toast and drank coffee as I ate. It began to worry me. I swallowed, placed my fork on my now empty plate, and reached for my mug of coffee.

“What did I do?” He arched an eyebrow. “I must have done something. Are you mad because I got drunk?”

He folded his arms over his dark blue shirt. “I dislike my agents coming to work hungover. We hold the lives of every human being on this planet in our hands. My people must be clear and sharp. Too much is riding on them, so yes, I’m upset because you would have been a liability in the field if we had been called out. Do not _ever_ get yourself in that state again on a work night. I will strip you of that new badge and dock your pay if you ever do so again.”

Okay. That made things clear as crystal. “Understood. I’m sorry for letting things push me into acting that way. It won’t happen again, Sir.”

“Can we please drop the ‘Sir’ unless it’s that sassy, playful way you use it?”

“Even at work?”

“No, at work I like it. But here,” he waved at our home – my home. “This is our space. It’s where I come to be at ease, to relax, to be with you. So playful use of ‘Sir’ only from here on out when we’re home, okay?”

“What did I do?” My nerves were firing up. Jack leaned up, forearms on the table. My gaze flickered to his wrist strap then to the watch I had given him for Christmas.

“How did you break your leg as a child?” My sight leaped from the watch with those three little words engraved in Welsh on the back to his face. He placed one hand on the table, palm up.

“What did I say last night?” My voice cracked. I looked at his hand on the table. Did he want me to take it? Had I revealed what had happened that day?

“You told me that your father broke your leg on purpose by stomping on it. That he hit you. That he shoved you down the stairs after a game of _Chutes and Ladders_.”

“It was _Snakes and Ladders_.” I grabbed his hand. Squeezed it. His fingers tightened around mine. “I knew better than to win when he was in a mood.”

“Ianto, please, look at me.”

“I can’t. I – I don’t want to…I’m not good at talking about things...I can’t.” The sounds of another normal day in Cardiff blew in the kitchen window. But it wasn’t a normal day. No, not at all. I had let my darkest secret out. Fuck me. Just fuck me.

“Ianto, please.”

I looked at him and wanted to cry. “It’s in the past, right?”

“Yes, it is, but that does not absolve the bastard for lashing out at a young boy. Breaking his leg, pushing him down the stairs.” His words were laced with hatred.

“They were short steps. Maybe six at most.”

Jack’s look spoke volumes. “One step is too many to push a person down.”

“Well, he never hit my sister. If he took out his black moods on me then at least he left Rhiannon alone.” God that was so weak. Making excuses for my father disgusted me. So, why was I doing it then?

“Ianto, he shouldn’t have hit either of you. You were just a little boy.” I reached over the table with my other hand. He immediately took it. Good. That felt good. Jack anchored me. Fuck my drunken mouth. I made a vow to never get that drunk again.

“It only happened on occasion. Four times maybe. Six at the most. When he was stressed.”

Jack shifted in his seat, the legs of the chair grating a bit on the linoleum. His hands slid up to rest on my forearms, his fingers slipping under the unbuttoned cuffs of his shirt and coming to rest by the fold of my elbow. Stronger now, his grip, like he was holding onto me as I dangled over a cliff. I knew he would tug me up and over the edge. He was Jack. It was what he did. He was my hero.

“It shouldn’t have happened even once,” he said. I nodded. “Ianto, you need to talk with Rhiannon about this.”

“No. She’s got this version of him, it’s a good one. She thought the sun rose and set with him. I won’t ruin that for her.” His fingertips bit into my flesh just a bit. “Her house is filled with pictures of our childhood. Bright, smiling images, snapshots in time. And she’s happy in all of them. I don’t want her childhood to be ruined too.”

“She thinks that you hate her – that you left home as soon as you could – because of her. You should tell her the truth. It would be cathartic for you and give her some understanding of why you’re so distant.” I blew out a breath, let my eyes drift shut, and absorbed Jack’s strength…his resolve. “Ianto, she’s hurting too. And after last night…”

“Okay, I’ll talk to her.” My eyes opened. Jack gave my arms a squeeze. “I’m not going to tell her about the…what happened. It’s mine to carry, to deal with as I can, but I will try to explain somehow that it’s not her that I need distance from, it’s the memories that come with her.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Just keep holding me when I need you to.”

“Always. I will _never_ let go of your hand.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I said nothing. I just sat there, clinging to my lifeline.

 

**To be continued…**


	7. Table for Four - Chapter Seven - Speaking Ill to the Dead

**Table for Four**

**Chapter Seven**

**Speaking Ill to the Dead**

**Jack**

**(Trigger Warning – Past Physical Child Abuse)**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

“Tosh, can you find out where Ianto’s father is buried?” She looked up me as I hustled up to her station. I’d pretended to do about thirty minutes of work and then realized I needed to address something that was gnawing at me. Toshiko tried to quickly close the window on her computer that was running Ianto’s drunken performance from last night. “Who else is watching this?” I snapped. My other two agents suddenly also had tabs to close. “Do not close that out,” I barked and all hands in the air fluttered to desks or laps.

“Jack, it’s nothing sordid or anything.” Tosh began then froze, her glasses resting atop her head. “Just a bit of fun. He’d laugh too, you know he would.”

“Okay, I do not want to see this…” I pointed at the shaky home video, “…ever again.”

“I have a question,” Owen chimed up, his feet resting on his desk, his eyes locked on me. “Ianto goes out on a work night, gets shit-face potted, and gets the following day off probably with pay. I go out on a work night, get shit-face potted and you dock my pay.” I glowered at him but held my tongue. “So, is his pay packet going to be a bit lighter?” He pushed because he was Owen.

“Another employee’s wages are none of your concern.”

“As I thought. Maybe _I_ should start sucking your dick. Seems swallowing the boss’s cum gives a person some special privileges.”

 The insult hit hard. One of the women to my side gasped.  I walked over to him, bent down, and grabbed both arms of his chair. His dark eyes widened and then narrowed. My nose was a centimeter from his.

“If you don’t like the way I run things, the doors are right over there.” I jerked my head at the exits. “Don’t let them hit you on the ass on your way out.”

“Just pointing out the inconsistencies in your managerial style,” he commented - sharp and to the bone - like a scalpel slice.

“Noted. Now get to work.” I turned to glare at Tosh. “Where is Ianto’s father buried?”

Her fingers flew as she searched for what I wanted. “According to the information in his personnel files, Mr. Jones was buried at Mother of Days cemetery in Newport. Would you like the exact lot number?”

“Yes, and a map of the cemetery.” I gave the monitors a dark look. “Every copy of that had better be erased when I come back.” I pointed at each screen then turned on my heel and thundered into my office, my anger barely in check. Not ten seconds later, Gwen appeared, looking contrite.

“Jack, truly, we meant no harm.”

I shoved an arm into my coat sleeve. “You three are worse than teenagers,” I huffed and pushed around her. She started to say something. I spun to face her. “I am in no mood, Gwen. Just get back to work, okay?”

“Jack, if you’d just talk to me perhaps we could--”

“There are some things that no amount of talking will erase.”

I left her staring at my back.

****

 The drive out to Newport was a hazy one. When I passed through a wrought-iron gate, I realized that I had just been behind the wheel for twenty minutes and hadn’t truly seen my surroundings although I _had_ plotted out some awful things to do a certain grave when I found it. I pulled up the map Tosh had sent me through my cell.

The grounds were a little shabby, as was the old church that sat atop a large knoll. The grass needed cut, the weeds around many of the markers could use a trim, and a few headstones lay on the ground, fallen off the cement plinth that had held them. I parked the SUV, shoved the keys into my front pocket, and took a walk. I passed old markers, ornate mausoleums, tiny stones with mossy lambs, and new graves with no identification save for a tiny metal spike with a yellow card.

My anger was slowly turning into depression. And perhaps a little bit of envy for those who could move on. Mr. Jones’ grave lay beside an old oak tree that had been split by a lightning strike many years ago. The ground around the plain headstone was littered with dead leaves. A gust ripped through the graveyard, tugging on my coat, and whipping the leaves into a small dervish. I dropped down into a crouch, refusing to clean the litter that fall had left around the man’s final resting place.

“I came here with the idea of kicking over your headstone then spitting on your grave.” The wind howled around the oak, whistling eerily through the cracked trunk. “Maybe I still will.” I glanced skyward at the caw of a raven and spotted the bird dropping down to pick around the graves a few hundred feet away. My attention stayed on the ebony bird for a few moments before I returned to Ianto’s father. “I want you to know that I know what you did. You hurt your child. Your own son.” The anger resurfaced. I stood up, my hands balling into tight fists. “If you weren’t already dead I’d kill you for what you did to him.”

The raven hopped into my peripheral. The bird stood staring at me, head tipped, glistening black eye regarding me with interest.

“Your son is a good man,” I told the marker by my boots as I assessed the bird. “He’s caring, loyal, passionate, remarkably clever, and blessed with what I’d call an eidetic memory.” I smiled. “Well, sometimes that memory of his isn’t _always_ a blessing. The man never forgets anything, even things that I wish he _would_ forget. We love each other.” I glanced from the bird to the stone. “Does that make you spin in your grave? Hearing that your son could love a man? I hope so, I _really_ do. I hope it tears you up for eternity. Just like what you did to him has marked him for the rest of his life, you miserable, abusive bastard.” The raven took to wing.

I left then, simply walked away from the stone and the shattered tree that it rested by. I’d said what I wanted to say and managed to not desecrate the grave in one of the four hundred ways I had envisioned while on the drive over. That right there should get me into Heaven…or not. Perhaps my ticket through the Pearly Gates lay elsewhere. Maybe it could be found by trying to make up for all the wrongs that I’d done, all the mistakes I’d made, all the people that I’d conned and lied to over the years.

Or maybe a man like me should stop pondering on such things. Maybe men like me should focus on helping the men like Ianto Jones, the real heroes. The ones who carried the burden so that his family could live happy lives, free from the pain that he had endured. I stopped beside the SUV, fished my phone out of my front pocket, and made a call. It had been some time and I was feeling guilty, sad, and shamed.

“Hi, Alice. It’s me, Dad. I was wondering if I could stop by and see you and Steven.”

 

**To be concluded…**


	8. Table for Four - Chapter Eight - Copper Moon

**Table for Four**

**Chapter Eight**

**Copper Moon**

**Ianto**

**(Trigger Warning – Past Physical Child Abuse)**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

We’d agreed to meet at an older cinema a few miles from her house. Seated in the last row in one of the smaller of four theaters, I sat upright, working my bottom lip nervously, trying to plot out what I would say to my sister. I felt like an author trying to sketch out dialog for his or her characters. If _only_ this conversation were fictional…

“Leave it to you to want to meet at an old movie theater.” I glanced over, torn from my word plotting, when Rhiannon sat down beside me, popcorn, candy, and a tall soda all balanced in a cardboard tray. “I was surprised you didn’t want to meet at the Electro, as fond as you are of old movies.”

“They converted that place into a museum. It holds too many ghosts for me. I don’t go there anymore,” I explained. She gave me an odd look, removed the wet scarf from her dark hair then handed me a box of Maltesers. “Thanks.” I sat holding the box of malted milk balls as she wiggled out of her wet coat then draped it over the stained seat beside her.

“What are we seeing?” She asked while shoving a straw though the plastic lid covering her drink.

“’Paper Moon’,” I replied, the sweets in my hand still unopened.

She smiled. It lit up her face when she did that. “God, I remember Dad and you going to a previous rerelease of it when you were just a wee thing. You walked around for weeks telling everyone you’d seen a flick called ‘Copper Moon’ and no matter how often we corrected you, you kept right on saying the wrong name. You’re stupidly stubborn about things, Ianto.” The humor of the moment dissipated. “Or maybe you’re just stupid.”

“About last night…”

“You don’t have to make excuses. I get it. You hate me.”

An old couple tottered past. The woman using a cane, her husband holding her arm. They made their way slowly down the aisle, choosing a spot in the middle of the rows of old, battered seats.

“That is _not_ true,” I softly argued, glad I had chosen a public spot for this encounter. At least Rhiannon wouldn’t shout here. We were too close to her home, she knew too many people. “It’s not you, it’s him.”

“Him? Him who?” Her question was brittle.

“Dad.”

“Dad? What’s he got to do with you getting potted during our dinner, which, I’d like to point out, ruined what had been a really lovely evening!”

The eight or so people in attendance all looked back at us. Rhiannon’s face tightened. She grabbed a handful of popcorn and crammed it into her mouth.

“I apologize for my behavior last night. I was stressed and things felt out of control. I don’t handle things being out of control well.”

“Oh, fuck you and your need to be in control of every little thing all the time. I swear you’re bloody OCD or something,” she snapped around her mouthful of popcorn. She swallowed then took a sip of her soda. I shut up and let her vent. It was an incredible rant which touched on just about everything that I had ever done to piss her off since the day I was born. “…you ever got a man like Jack to even give you the time of day! He’s a beautiful, lovely man with perfect manners and I have no clue what he sees in you.”

Perhaps being in public wouldn’t keep her in check after all. “I don’t know what he sees in me either.” I rattled the box of malt balls.

“God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Rhiannon began to cry softly. I dug into my back pocket and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief for her. “I truly did not mean that.”

“It’s not you, Rhiannon. It’s the memory of Dad that comes with you that makes me so…distant.”

She gaped at me for several long seconds. The ire left her eyes to be replaced with confusion and sadness. Knowing I had made her cry yet again made me feel lower than the flattened popcorn under our feet.

“It’s always him with you. The man is dead, Ianto.”

“I know but sometimes his ghost is with us. With you. He clings to you.” This was impossible. How could I ever make her understand? A full minute ticked off. A pair of middle-aged couples walked past, talking animatedly about Ryan O’Neal and his daughter, Tatum, the stars of the comedy-drama we were about to see. “Whenever I see you, I see him. I wish seeing him was a pleasant memory, but it’s not.”

“I never did see what it was between you and him. Mum says it’s that your ashamed of being poor, that’s why you make things up about him and where he worked. Is that it? Are you ashamed of where we grew up, where I live now? Are you embarrassed to be a poor white boy from Newport around all those fancy government friends of yours? Around Jack?”

“No, no, that is not it.” In truth, I _was_ embarrassed of my roots and where my sister now lived. Which was why I dressed well, owned a nice car, and kept everything I owned in pristine condition. Knowing how fleeting a good life was, I clung to it. Control. It was all about control. I’d lost it as a child and now I required it to function - like oxygen, food, and water. Was that why Jack had suggested rope play in our bed? To help me let go? To give me an out that was enjoyable and safe? To let me give him the burden of control over me, if even for just half an hour? He was the only person on the planet that I would hand that control to. The only person that I trusted that deeply…

“Well, I’d like to know what it was that man ever did to you beside work his arse off to feed and clothe you. I know we didn’t have much, but we had three squares, clothes, and a roof over our heads. Wasn’t that enough for you, Ianto?”

I looked at her. She was torn, her face wet, her eyes pleading for something. “We just differed is all.” She dabbed at her eyes with my handkerchief. “Dad and I never got on.”

“That’s not _my_ fault though, Ianto.” The tears began to flow a little harder. “I’m not Dad, I’m your sister. Your only sister. I miss you. We were so close as kids. I miss that.”

I slid an arm around her shoulder. She leaned into me with little pulling. The lights flickered and then began to dim. “I miss that too. I promise I’ll do better. Come by more.”

“I’d like that,” she sniffled, her head resting on the shoulder of my damp jacket. “I’ll try too, not to shine the light on him when you’re around. I can move his pictures. I know they upset you. I’ve seen your face when you look at them. I’d be willing to take them all down if you’d just come by more often.”

“No, don’t move the pictures. The kids should know their grandfather.”

“Think you could bring Jack sometime?”

 “So, you’re smitten with him as well?” I asked, the corners of my mouth drew up a bit.

“He’s beautiful for sure. But smitten? No. Well, not a large bit.” She confessed which made the smile on my face grow. “I just suspect that if he’s with you you’ll be able to face that ghost you say follows me around. He seems to make you glow when you’re near him. You look more settled, stronger, less prone to taking to wing like a spooked bird.”

“That’s what love does,” I murmured as that iconic prairie funeral opening scene began to play.

“Are we good then? You and me?” She asked, her head still pillowed on my shoulder.

“We’re good.” I pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

“So, the birthday party for Mica? Jack and you, maybe?”

I winced in the darkness. “I’ll see if he’s interested in coming.”

“Ah, you’re a good brother even if you are a right pain in the arse. I love you.” She sat up, kissed my cheek, and offered me some popcorn. This time, I took some.

                                                              ****                          

I looked up from the book of Tennyson works at the sound of Jack coming through our front door. He saw me on the sofa, my nose buried in my most favored holiday gift.

“’Ulysses?’” He asked, closing the door then sweeping his coat off and draping it over the arm of the couch.

“’The Lady of Shalott,’” I replied, closing the book, and pushing to my feet. “I’ll read you some later if you’d like.”

“I’d like that. I didn’t expect you to be home yet. Are things settled now with you and Rhiannon?”

“They’re better.”

“I’m glad.” His smile was sincere. The lure of him pulled at me, tempting beyond measure.

“There’s a birthday party I need to discuss with you.”

“Will there be booze and half-naked men and women at this party?”

“There’ll be five-year-old children, cake, and screaming. Lots of screaming.”

He chuckled. “Wonderful. Tell her we’ll be there. I’ve been missing the sound of laughing children.”

I pondered his cryptic reply for a second. “I’ll tell her. Jack, I was wondering…” I took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom. His gaze left me then settled on the bed, and the ropes draped over the headboard. His blue eyes widened just a little before they came to rest on me.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to push you when you’re feeling vulnerable.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Then I’ll be happy to help lighten your burden.”

We reached for each other, his mouth settling over mine. The pressure and taste of him fanned a wildfire to life that would burn brilliantly, turning the world and all its pain to fine ash, at least for a short while.

 

**The End**

**Next up will be another “Day in the Life’ one-shot and then we’ll leap into “Echoes” which does have aliens. *winks***

**Thank you so much for reading along.**

**Yours in fiction—**

**Feral**


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